


waiting for the moon to rise

by guti



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Background characters - Freeform, Basically people get mentioned, Gen, M/M, Retirement, there's a ship if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 08:52:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11376801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guti/pseuds/guti
Summary: After swimming, sunning, and letting himself ruminate on it long enough, he came to a very stark conclusion.  This was it.  This was the end.  This was the moment he’d dreaded ever since he signed his first professional contract.  His career was officially over.





	waiting for the moon to rise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pimpam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pimpam/gifts).



> this was meant to be a little drabble from that rarepairs request thing on tumblr but i got bored on my lunch break and this is the result. it's more of a character study than anything else but i hope you enjoy it!
> 
> also the title is from [belle and sebastian](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uERETvmoqNw).

June in the Balearics became a sort of tradition for Álvaro without him even realizing it. It started out with irregular trips to Ibiza with Roberto and Esteban, and before he knew it, it turned into a yearly tradition of renting a yacht for a week floating back and forth through the archipelago with Calleti and Juanmi and their extended families. After ten months of daily training, grueling matches, scrutiny from fans, the media, his teammates, and the world at large, those days spent basking in the glorious Mediterranean sun gave him something to look forward to, something to dream about once the end of the season came around. He loved to swim, and more than that, he loved the chance to clear his head and just think. His career had had its ups and downs. He knew what victory felt like, and he knew just as well the bitterness of defeat. Or maybe he just knew bitterness. He’d experienced plenty of it to understand the subtle nuances, the layers, the shades of pain that had to blister before developing into a callous. And some parts never really did harden up. Some of the sores still felt fresh. And, he figured, they would stay that way until the day he hung up his boots and said it was all done. After swimming, sunning, and letting himself ruminate on it long enough, he came to a very stark conclusion.  This was it.  This was the end.  This was the moment he’d dreaded ever since he signed his first professional contract. His career was officially over. 

He sat on the realization for a night, then for another. He told a tearful Carlota first, bouncing Vega in his arms as she dabbed her eyes with a tissue, and then the next morning he told José and Juanmi, who gave him a consolatory hug, and then their wives, who took the news with the expected amount of disappointment and doting over their dear, darling Arbeloa. He absorbed their adoration and praise as he always did; with a grateful heart and enthusiastic embraces in kind. He was a lucky man, to have such devoted friends.

He decided that it would be best to share his decision with the rest of the so-called A-Team once they were all back on dry land.  Better to share the news with them himself than to let them find out from some newspaper printing only a quarter of the truth.

Raúl protested the decision in his usual subdued way while Xabi made some clever remark about being a trendsetter, and they all laughed, gave Álvaro a round of hugs, teasing him about getting old and going grey. He laughed too, and raised his glass to them, and thanked each of them for coming, for loving him, supporting him, staying loyal until the end. In that moment, with José and Xabi and Raúl and the girls chatting happily together, all of them bathed in the golden glow of the low lit restaurant, he allowed himself to embrace the unknowns of his future and just relax. It was going to work out. And if it didn’t… well, he had the whole rest of his lifetime to adjust to life after football.

Still, comfortable as he was in his decision, a small voice in the back of his head questioned everything, and he found himself staring out into the black vastness of the sea, all alone while Carlota and the kids slept soundly in their beds in the hotel suite. He sank heavily down into one of the patio chairs, barely able to make out anything in the dark water before him. A feint breeze kissed at his skin and he shivered at the precise moment that the sliding glass door behind him squeaked open.

“So this is it?” Raúl said, somehow able to catch Álvaro off guard in his chair on the shared balcony which connected the families’ two suites.  The older man nearly jumped a foot out of his seat, his lips curved into an unimpressed smile while Raúl padded across the cool patio tiles and into the open chair beside him.  “This is the end of an era, isn’t it?  First Xabi, and now you too?”

Álvaro stayed atypically quiet, dark eyes fixed on some terribly fascinating spot on the floor.  Slowly, cautiously, he dared to look back at Raúl, hoping to see his friend smile but only catching a somber look in his eyes.

“You could have come to Italy.  You’ve always said you like Naples.”

Álvaro tried to pretend he couldn’t hear the way Raúl’s voice caught a little.  He winced.  His heartbeat seemed to stop for a second or two.  “I do like Naples,” he said uselessly, leaning in toward Raúl without even noticing it, like a flower bending to reach for the sun.  “I like Naples a lot.  It’s beautiful there.  But it’s time.”

“You’ve got a little life left in you,” Raúl countered.  “Anyone can see, you’re in the best shape of your life.”

“Then it’s a wonder how I ever managed to have a career at all.”  He couldn’t help but scoff, even as Raúl fumed a couple of feet away, his thick brows furrowed together, hurt and disappointment washing over him.  Raúl always looked cute when he was angry, but honestly, Álvaro didn’t want to have to deal with any of that tonight.  It was his retirement, after all, and it was something to celebrate.  He’d had a wonderful time, won trophies upon trophies, seen the world, forged relationships that he would carry for the rest of his life.  He was blessed, charmed.  And moreover, he was ready.  “It’s time, Raúl.  Better I walk away now, and of my own volition than be forced into it when I’ve passed my prime.”

He looked back to Raúl and noted that he still had that wounded look in his eyes, and elected to remedy the situation with a gentle tease.  “Come on, Chori.  You might not get it now, but you’ll understand when you’re older.”

Raúl turned his head sharply, eyes narrowing as he stared him down, and Álvaro was grateful that the sun had fully set and that the hurt in Raúl’s expression was softened by the darkness.  He knew full well what Raúl was thinking. Raúl’d told him before about how he had the nastiest tendency to be patronizing, superior, smug.  He remembered Raúl saying it was one of the qualities which often made him so entertaining to hang around with, but he recalled too there were moments of seriousness, moments where Raúl craved genuine interaction over some unnecessary jibe. Álvaro knew he could be absolutely maddening. He never meant to try Chori’s patience so.

But to his credit, Álvaro caught on quickly, his face falling as their eyes met again.  He didn’t say anything, just gave into the moment and let himself get lost in Raúl’s eyes, and after a few moments of silence, Raúl cleared his throat, mouth set in a frown.  “I wanted to play with you again.”

Álvaro snorted softly, shaking his head. “No you didn’t.”

“It’s true,” Raúl said quietly.  “I’ve missed that.”

“It’s been years,” Álvaro answered, dopey smile slowly returning.  “Surely you’ve gotten over me by now.”

“No,” Raúl said, his own smile like a ghost on his lips.  “I never did.”

Álvaro just let himself laugh.

“And I always thought you’d look good in blue.”

Álvaro looked back to the Valencian, who was by then fully grinning at him.  “Oh yeah?”

“Sure.  And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but our shirts are very tight.”

“Believe me, I have noticed.”

Raúl raised his eyebrows.  Álvaro rolled his eyes.  Raúl reached across and placed his hand onto Álvaro’s forearm, gentle and protective.  “You could have come to Naples. There’s so much we could have done together.”

Their eyes met, and Álvaro nodded, putting his free hand over Raúl’s, giving his hand a grateful squeeze.

Playing for Napoli wasn't in the cards. It never had been, and he was sure that Raúl knew that. But just the same, it felt nice to be wanted again, still, always. Not that he ever really doubted Raúl’s devotion. If he could count on anyone to stay by his side through thick and thin, besides Xabi, it would always be Raúl. 

They’d achieved so much together— league titles, domestic trophies, two European Cups, the fucking _World Cup_. All careers had to end, but he’d been lucky enough not to have to face that inevitability until he’d achieved nearly all there was to achieve. He’d hit every high note possible, what else was left for him to do? What more could _they_ achieve together?

He closed his eyes, rubbing his thumb gently over Raúl’s knuckles, grateful to hear the younger man exhale and seem to relax, like he understood everything.

“What are you going to do now, Álvaro?” Raúl asked him, voice so low that Álvaro could barely hear his words.

He didn’t have a real answered to that. He simply didn’t know. It felt strange, like he was in a sort of limbo, in a place in his life he’d never truly wanted to accept. 

“I don’t know what I’ll do,” he said honestly, looking back to Raúl, still holding tight to his hand. “But if you can get me tickets to the San Paolo, it’d give me an excuse to bum around Naples for a bit.”

Raúl rolled his eyes. Álvaro grinned. “I’ll bring a sign. ‘¿Chori, puedo tu camisa?’”

Raúl sniffed softly. “Very funny.”

“I mean it, I swear.”

“Yeah, okay.” They both were quiet for a moment, before Raúl gave Álvaro’s arm one last solid squeeze. 

“I’ll want it autographed too,” Álvaro said, watching as Chori stood up and loomed over him with the same goofy smile he always seemed to have whenever they were together. “I’ll be your biggest fan.”

“Alright. If it means you’ll come to Naples,” Raúl murmured as he headed toward the glass door of his suite, back to his own sleeping wife and children, leaving Álvaro alone in the dark with nothing but the crashing waves against the shoreline as a distraction.


End file.
